


Red in tooth, red in claw

by Artikbear



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Violence, Feeding, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Vampires, but with dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artikbear/pseuds/Artikbear
Summary: Maxim is reluctant to take, but Timur is willing to give. Even when the stakes are high.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	Red in tooth, red in claw

**Author's Note:**

> Some very dark AU thing I was going to write for Halloween but couldn't due to personal reasons. I said dark so please heed the tags! Rated M for violence, not for the sexual content.

Maxim returns home well after sundown, with a dead rabbit in his hand and his bucket empty. Timur gets up from his seat and eyes him worryingly. 

“No luck?” he asks, and gets a frustrated growl in return.

“Not a single track. I bet they’ll stay holed up until the snow stops.” 

Maxim looks pissed but largely unconcerned, though Timur knows their situation is not something to treat lightly. The hunt hasn’t been successful for two weeks now, which is longer than any occasion he remembers. Usually there are plenty of hunters who are bold enough to venture into this deep, unknown part of the woods, never once imagining that for once, it's  _ their _ turn to be the prey.

But recently things haven't been smooth. It's been a while since Maxim last had the opportunity to feed himself, and even though he's pretending to be unaffected, the damage is already showing on him. His eye are sunken, and his movement is getting sluggish like the air itself is constantly dragging him down.

Timur takes the rabbit from Maxim's hand and brings it to the kitchen to be cooked later. Since animal blood doesn't work the same as human blood for Maxim, this one is entirely for Timur's benefit, to make sure at least he won't starve. Timur feels terribly guilty for not suffering together, for not being able to help him―but if Maxim can't find anything in the woods there's no chance  _ he _ can.

No, in fact, there is a way he can help, give him what he needs the most. He's been toying with the idea for a few days now and the only thing that stops him from saying it out loud is the fact he knows Maxim won't like it. Not in the slightest.

He follows Maxim to the bedroom and watches him take off his jacket and boots and collapse on the bed with a heavy  _ thud,  _ not bothering with the rest of the clothes. Timur can tell that his body is getting weary, running without fuel for day after day. 

“Come here,” Maxim murmurs, shifting to make a space, and Timur wordlessly climbs onto the bed to snuggle up to him. His clothes are still cold to the touch but the body beneath them isn't, it never is, a perk of being what he is. Timur throws an arm over Maxim’s torso to pull him in and  _ god _ , he can feel how lean he’s become. 

"Maxim," he starts, and nothing has come out of his mouth yet but Maxim is tensing in his arms already. 

"Don’t."

He lets out an exasperated huff at the immediate objection, because it's unfair, he's not even giving Timur a chance to reason with him.

"I know what you're going to say. And the answer is no. You can talk all day but I won't change my mind about it."

There is familiar, bullheaded determination embedded in his words. Timur presses his forehead against Maxim’s shoulder and closes his eyes because he’s tired too, of worrying and waiting, when a solution is right there where he can see.

"You can't go on like this."

"Why not? I’ve seen worse days and still I survived. I can wait longer if I have to."

"But that’s the thing, you  _ don't.  _ You don't have to go through this. Let me help."

Maxim grunts, annoyed that Timur won’t drop the topic already, but he’s not the only person in this house who can be stubborn. 

"I’ll be okay. Just enough to keep you on your feet." 

“It’s not that simple. You don’t understand.”

“Then talk to me, so I can. What are you so worried about?” With the tone he's using now he has never failed to coax an answer out of him, but still Maxim’s whole body is rigid, as if he’s considering fleeing if it means getting out of this conversation. When he opens his mouth again, his words are clipped like they're dragged out by force.

“There’s a reason I don’t let you come with me when I’m hunting. I’m― I don’t trust myself when I’m like that.” He turns his back to Timur, never comfortable about talking about this particular topic, because while he carries himself with certain pride there is shame that cancels it out too, about losing his control to mere instincts. “It’s too dangerous. What if I can't stop, huh? What if I won't?"

Timur lets him shy away from his touch against his own desire itching to do the opposite―he has learned that if he doesn’t give Maxim enough space, he’d only clam up further.

"I know there are… certain risks. But we can be careful. Make sure things won't get out of our hands."

"No," Maxim says, his voice flat, not budging an inch. "I don't want it, Timur."

Timur responds with a defeated sigh instead of a proper answer because he knows when he sees a lost cause. He can't be persuaded, at least not now, though it's unlikely that he'll change his mind anytime soon. Just when Timur assumes he's fallen asleep, Maxim rolls back to his original spot and buries his face into the nape of Timur's neck. The distance between his teeth and the warm blood that's coursing through his artery must be tantalizingly close for Maxim. But still.

"I'm not keeping you so I can fucking feed on you."

"I know."

"I don't want to think of you that way."

"I know, Maxim."

Maxim visibly relaxes at his answer, almost deflates even, and Timur feels an urge to shake some sense into him until he can see what a goddamn fool he is being but lets him sleep, the only thing he can have as much as he wants right now.

Two days pass without any events, except that Maxim is a fucking  _ mess.  _ His skin is running even hotter than usual as if he's in a constant fever, his cheeks are hollowed, and he once loses his footing and almost stumbles on his way to the bed, but the answer remains a solid no. Timur wants to murder someone―until he realizes with sudden clarity that it's entirely up to him to take the necessary actions.

Maxim sleeps like a log these days, his body desperate to reserve every ounce of energy it can spare. So Timur waits, pretending to be asleep, only to slip out of the bed once it becomes sure Maxim won't wake at the slightest stir, and heads out to the shed to gather the necessary materials for the act he's about to commit.

Minutes later Maxim wakes up bewildered, each limbs tied firmly to the bedposts and a clean rag stuffed in his mouth―his empty threats won't  intimidate Timur, but his pleas might weaken his resolve. Maxim starts to squirm, muscles tensing and tendons straining, but only thing he succeeds in is making the bed frame creak. A pity, really, because the ropes are thick and sturdy but not nearly enough to hold down a creature like him. He would've been able to cut himself free if he wasn't rendered this weak by his hunger. Maxim tries to speak around the rag, which comes out awfully close to a whimper. Timur reaches up and strokes his sweat-soaked hair soothingly.

"Shh, don't worry, you'll be feeling better soon. I promise," he whispers, and the muffled sound diminishes in volume, more confused than surprised now, only until Timur picks up Maxim's hunting knife and places it near his other hand. Then Maxim begins to  _ thrash, _ with much force as his binding allows him to, the ropes pulled taut and the entire bed quaking. Timur straddles his hips to pin him down with his weight, and raises the knife again despite the protest. Maxim's eyes are trained on the blade, wide and frantic.

"Don't move, or I might cut deeper than I need to," Timur warns, and unsurprisingly, it does the trick. Maxim freezes in place, breathing hard through his nose but otherwise still as a statue. Timur takes the chance to slide the blade against his palm, making a shallow cut along the line there. After a moment's pause blood starts to seep out, drawing a thin red line, and Timur cups his hand to gather the precious liquid without spilling a single drop. 

Meanwhile, Maxim is shuddering violently under him, definitely affected by the sight or the smell of the blood, maybe both. His physiology is betraying himself, his irises are getting paler in color to the point where his eyes are almost gleaming in the dark. Timur waits patiently, watching the thick, crimson fluid pooling on his palm.

"You might not want it, but you need it. And it's okay to need," he tells Maxim, softly. Something shatters in his eyes, and that's the cue: he removes the rag but the only sounds that comes out of his mouth are harsh pants and snarls, no accusing words or rejection. His tongue is tasting the air that's filled with coppery tang strong enough to be detected by Timur's untuned sense. 

He brings his hand over the other man's mouth and tips it carefully, so the blood can trickle down to the edge of his palm. Maxim laps up to it obediently like a hungry kitten. 

"There you go," Timur hums, his heart pounding fast and pushing the blood out of the wound. He's relieved, if anything, because now he can be sure that Maxim is going to be alright. The guilt of the act can be pushed aside until later. 

After licking away what's dripping down, Maxim begins to suck on the wound lightly. Timur is mesmerized by the shape of the mouth on his palm, wet contact between the tongue and his skin. A set of sharp fangs graze his flesh, never quite puncturing.

He loses track of the time like that, and it becomes increasingly harder to gauge how much would be enough for Maxim and how much would be too much for himself, because the blood loss is slowly making him hazy. Thinking clearly is almost an impossible feat at this point. 

When he finally withdraws his hand, Maxim doesn't protest but licks his lips with raw, insatiable kind of want in his eyes, and Timur feels fiercely tempted to give him more, might as well give away his whole being if Maxim would only ask, but shakes himself out of it. He did say he'd be careful, after all. 

The rope can be gone after he comes to his senses, Timur decides, and heads to the bathroom to clean his wound and bandage it. It stings but not as much as the crack in his conscience. He's not sure if he'll be ever forgiven. 

When he returns to their bedroom his heart drops to his feet with a sickening lurch, because Maxim is nowhere to be seen. The ropes are torn off with force and one of the bedposts is broken. Timur eyes the hunting knife on the bedside table, remembering how Maxim insisted he should never let his guard down around him, but decides against it and follows him out.

Maxim is sitting at the table, his head hung low and shaking badly. This has been the single flaw of his plan, because of course Maxim is putting the blame on himself, even when the decision was not his. Seeing him like this hurts more than any wound a knife can inflict. Timur approaches him slowly, talking in the gentlest voice he can manage.

"Don't be like that. You didn't do anything. I forced this on you."

"I wanted more," he confesses without meeting his eyes. He sounds hollow, haunted. "So much more. I could have killed you."

"Yet you didn't, because you chose not to." 

Timur takes a step closer, and Maxim raises his head, startled. He is staring at Timur's bandaged hand, where last droplets of blood is seeping through and leaving a red smudge on the white surface. He jumps out of his seat and backs away from Timur warily.

"Don't come any closer."

Timur does as he's told, because he's done enough damage already by ignoring his wishes tonight. 

"Maxim, I―"

"You really shouldn't have," Maxim mutters, sounding angry at last, and storms out of their cabin into the forest that's still doused in darkness.

Timur isn't worried, until he is. He knows for a fact that nothing in the woods can hurt Maxim, be it an animal or a human. But he's not in his best form, and what blood Timur could give can't be enough to sustain him more than a day or so. 

He tries looking for Maxim, which is pointless because even if he manages to stumble upon the right path, Maxim can detect and avoid him from a mile away if he wants to. Still it's better than staying at home, because it seems he can't concentrate on anything at all. 

A mouse worrying over a cat is a fool, he thinks, but is a cat who chooses to starve than to eat a mouse it got attached to any better?

It occurs to him that it's entirely possible that Maxim is not coming back. A concept of home doesn't mean much to him, the cabin of his used to be just another temporary residence until Timur came along. From then, his presence was what made it qualified to be home, but he might have broken the tie between them to the point it can't be repaired. He has violated Maxim's choice and betrayed his trust. The worst part is he'd do the same thing again even if he can reverse time to have a second chance, because this horrible emptiness of being left alone is infinitely better than watching him wither away, helpless.

The sleep doesn't come that night. The moon watches him toss and turn with no avail, its gaze judging and overbearing.

At dawn, there is someone knocking on the door. Timur walks up to the doorway, light-headed from lack of sleep―rather like lack of everything really, including food, physical contact, peace of mind―and opens the door without bothering to check who it is. 

Maxim is standing there with his gaze cast downwards, smelling strongly of blood. Dark specks scattered over his clothes tells Timur it must have been a messy affair.

"I couldn't come back until I knew for sure I wouldn't―" Maxim starts to explain, only to be interrupted by Timur launching himself forward to wrap his arms around Maxim and hold tight. Maxim returns the hug cautiously.

"You should be more careful around me," he protests weakly, but his arms are comforting weight around Timur's shoulder, his scent beneath the metallic tang achingly familiar. It feels like nothing has ever gone wrong, like everything's going to turn out alright somehow. Timur smiles against the cold surface of Maxim's jacket, letting himself believe it.

"Don't be an idiot and come inside, it's cold."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm happy to finally present you with this beast of a fic, now that I can merily go into the holiday mood.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](https://artikbear.tumblr.com/)!


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